


Call Me By His Name (Make Me Feel the Same)

by bildungsromantic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Threesome, F/M, Infidelity (Sort Of), M/M, Multi, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 14:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bildungsromantic/pseuds/bildungsromantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie lives with them after the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Me By His Name (Make Me Feel the Same)

Charlie lives with them after the war. They don't talk it over, the way grown witches and wizards should; they don’t talk logistics or limits, rent or rules. Fleur makes up the guest bedroom and Bill buys earl grey tea specially and, like that, it's settled.

They have been broken open by death, lost like refugees in some war for meaning, and all they can hold in their arms is each other. What's gone is gone. The Burrow is too empty, too quiet to be home now. But here at Shell Cottage is some new beginning where they might play make-believe.

\- - - - - - -

'You're happy to have him here.' Fleur looks over the edge of the bathtub. There are soap suds on her chin, dimples in her cheeks.

Watching her in the mirror, Bill draws the straight razor over the rough plane of his face, over scars too deep to magic the job. 'I am. You like having him here, too, don't you?'

'I'm happy you're happy,' she says, before she submerges herself, her long, pale hair floating across the surface of water like reflections of sunlight.

\- - - - - - -

Long past sunrise, through the thinning hide of sleep — grown now almost transparent — Bill hears them. Charlie and Fleur. Each morning, they wake before him, before the sky goes fully blue and bright, and together they cook breakfast. Sometimes, on days like today, when the quiet sound of them calls him to their side, Bill pads to the kitchen in his pajamas and watches, and the all the air in his lungs goes still.

Bill notices that Charlie's hand fits against the crook of flesh at Fleur's hip, that when Fleur's head tilts up to look at Charlie, the curve of her neck is like one half of a heart. They slice fruit and toast bread in syncopation, easy with nothing but sound of brown eggs cracking over a blue flame.

When Bill finally clears his throat, Fleur turns, smiling, and Charlie's eyes dip to the floor. 'Breakfast'll be ready in a moment,' he says.

'That's fine,' says Bill. 'I don't mind.'

\- - - - - - -

The slide of Fleur's fingertips over his face, the curl of her hair through his fingers — these are the certainties that Bill tucks inside himself when he begins to feel ordinary again. A wedding blessed and burned with the frenzy of battle. A warrior bride. Theirs is no ordinary marriage.

At night, she tells him that his scars remind her of freckles, that in the dark freckles remind her of scars.

\- - - - - - -

‘Do you miss it?’ Bill asks Charlie as they walk back to the cottage. ‘Romania? The dragons?’

Charlie squints up at the sky. He has his broomstick slung over his shoulder, Quaffle tucked under one arm. As is usual for their impromptu weekend matches — flying over the cold sands of the shore, diving low over the water — Bill lost. He knows he did, though he’s not sure Charlie ever keeps count.

‘I miss it,’ Charlie says eventually. ‘I wish I didn’t. You’d think I’d’ve had enough daredevilry for a lifetime. And if anything happened to me — Mum and Dad — ’ He shakes his head. ‘They can’t go through it again.’

‘None of us can.’

‘No,’ says Charlie. ‘I don’t think we can.’

The air is cool, damp. Autumn will soon be in full flush. Bill puts his hand on Charlie’s shoulder, says, ‘You’re a risk-taker, little brother. You won’t stay away forever.’

As they approach the cottage, Fleur runs out to greet them, her feet bare. ‘Bill,’ she cries, and her face is moon-bright, her smile the smile Bill fell in love with in the dank vaults of Gringotts. She looks from him to Charlie and back again, that spark of joy never fading. ‘I’m pregnant.’

\- - - - - - -

Charlie starts packing that night.

‘Don’t go,’ Bill says. He stands in the doorway, knocking against the frame but feeling small. Charlie is his little brother, but sometimes the hard set of his face makes him seem so much older. 

‘I don’t mind,’ Bill says. ‘About Fleur. I really don’t.’

Charlie doesn’t look up. He’s gone by morning.

\- - - - - - -

‘He said we have a family now. He said he didn’t want to get in the way.’

Fleur frowns. ‘Doesn’t he realize? Of course we have a family — he’s part of it.’

\- - - - - - -

So it’s back to dragonfire and adrenaline, a hobbled-together kind of life that Bill knows Charlie prefers. There are owls from him every now and then, and Bill holds the words close to him, keeps them for a moment for himself, before he gives the letter to Fleur. He watches her read it. He knows by the curve of her mouth when she’s reached a joke or one of Charlie’s strange parenthetical comments about his coworkers, knows by her soft eyes or the tightening of her grip when she sees her own name mentioned.

In bed, Bill scratches his fingers over Fleur’s stomach, and kisses the dip of her belly button so that she gasps and giggles all at once. He slides his hand over her thigh.

‘I love you,’ she whispers.

‘I love you, too’ gets lost in his throat, burned away by its own force. She has found her way so deep inside his cracked heart that he doesn’t think he could ever get her out, could ever even want to.

\- - - - - - -

Christmas at the Burrow is a wild, rackety affair. Everyone shows up. Ron and Harry and Hermione move like a pack, an inseparable one-two-three of steps and secrets. Ginny, grown suddenly adult, fits in easily with them, but Bill finds her alone more often than not, reading or finishing up letters to friends, fingers black with ink. ‘All right?’ he asks, and she nods, says, ‘He’s not ready yet, is all. He’s — ‘ She can’t finish, but Bill understands.

George brings packages that Mum and Dad forbid anyone from opening indoors. He’s happy enough — but quieter, less quick to laughter. Bill can’t look at him without seeing Fred, and he’s sorry for that. It’s not fair to anybody.

Percy’s there, too. ‘Best man for the job,’ he’s saying to Dad, about the new Minister, ‘undoubtedly the best,’ but he pauses when Bill, passing, squeezes his shoulder. He turns his face. His smile is slight, genuine. He looks like a kid again.

Even Andromeda and little Teddy Lupin have made it. Bill takes his turn holding the baby, looking over his small, warm body to where Fleur stands — Fleur, whose belly will soon begin to round with the weight of a child. They’re planning on telling the family over dinner.

Charlie is the last to Apparate in, just after dark on Christmas Eve. Bill sees Fleur put her hand to her mouth. There is a large, mottled scar across Charlie’s face, a burn where fire flew too close.

\- - - - - - -

Christmas morning, Bill wakes up alone. He’s not surprised. He’s not even cold.

\- - - - - - -

‘What’s it like when you’re with her?’

They’re in the spot they always used to go to when they were boys, before anyone else was at Hogwarts and they thought themselves so grown up. It’s a tree within view of the Burrow, perfectly concave to accommodate the shape of their leaning backs. The wind cuts through them; they shiver side by side.

‘You can tell me,’ Bill promises. ‘It’s all right. Really, it is.’

Charlie stares down at his hands. ‘I imagine what it’s like to be you. I’ll never be domestic, Bill. I’ll cook an egg and I’ll kiss a baby, but what I want — ’ He shakes his head.

‘She’s an amazing woman.’

‘Yes. And you’re a good man. When I’m with her, I imagine what that would be like.’ Bill doesn’t know what to say, and after a moment, Charlie adds, ‘It’s a little easier now,’ touching the rough scar seared across his cheek.

\- - - - - - -

Before they return to Shell Cottage, Bill hugs Charlie. ‘Be careful,’ he urges. Fleur stands on her tiptoes and kisses Charlie on the lips.

‘I’ll write,’ he tells them. Fleur kisses him again for good measure.

\- - - - - - -

Inside Fleur's growing body, Bill’s future waits for him. He’s made his choice — he’s a good man. Egypt is long gone, dangerous jobs are too dangerous now. His work at Gringotts is complex, fascinating, worthwhile. He can’t regret it, though every time he closes his eyes he imagines Charlie riding atop a dragon.

‘ _Mon coeur_?’ Fleur murmurs.

Bill presses his lips to her lips, to her neck, to her chest. Her fingertips brush across his scars, his freckles, his unmistakable Weasley face. 

‘Bill?’

‘No,’ he says into her skin. ‘Could you — would you — ‘ He inhales, unable to meet her gaze. ‘Call me Charlie.’

‘Ah,’ she says. Her hand fits over the back of his neck, her voice floats like a spell over his skin. She calls him by another’s name, and with a hot heart, he responds.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Ben Lee's "Apple Candy":
> 
> I want to know what he knows  
> I want to touch what he touched  
> call me by his name
> 
> 'cause I know you made a promise  
> told him he's your lover  
> make me feel the same


End file.
